


Leviathan, Disturbed

by MorbidOptimist



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, Homestuck
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Eventual Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, F/F, Grimdark, Hostage Situations, Needles, homestuck characters in a batman villain theme, kiddnapping, minor kanaya maryam/porrim maryam, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidOptimist/pseuds/MorbidOptimist
Summary: Rose Lalonde is a fresh from the mill psychiatrist, with lots of potential and a need to succeed; she’s hired by Arkham Asylum, and lands the resident patient Clown Heir of Crime. Rose Hopes to cure him, and quickly, so that that the good Doctor will let her focus on helping her cousin Dirk, aka the Ventriloquist, get rehabilitated and released from Arkham for good.  Unfortunately, The Prankster finds this all terribly funny, because he knows what Rose doesn’t, and in Gotham City, what you don't know just might kill you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mental health and illness is no laughing matter; this is not a fic about bashing anyone afflicted with things beyond their control, nor is it advocating in any way, the mistreatment or dehumanizing of anyone suffering from mental heath related illnesses, nor trying to perpetuate the ugly myth that mental illness is directly linked with violent behavior. This is just meant to be good fun, wherein the homestuck cast gets re-imagined as Batman's gallery of rogues. Minus Batman.  
> That being said, some of batmans villains get up to really messed up things, and so will some of the characters in this story. While I hope this remains unoffensive or triggering, it may be best to avoid this fic if anything from a batman episode would make you uncomfortable.

 

...

 

“And what is it that you intend to accomplish now, Miss Lalonde?” the doctor asked as he eyed her warily.

“I believe my intentions were perfectly clear in my application letters, Mr. Scratch.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he replied, irritance marring his otherwise expressionless face around his brow.

“Likewise,” Rose replied.

“I should warn you, _Doctor_ Lalonde, that these individuals taking refuge in our care, are hardened criminals, and not for the faint of composure. If you’re planning on writing a tell all book about the atrocities of our patients' psyches or star in a television interview about a one in a million breakthrough you induced in a high risk patient, you are going to be in for a nasty ride, I assure you.”

“My intention, _Doctor_ , is to give my cousin the help he so clearly needs, but cannot receive elsewhere.”

“The Ventriloquist has refused to cooperate with every doctor we've placed him under.”

“Which is why I’m here Dr. Scratch; I’m the resource your institution can’t afford to ignore. _Dirk_ ,” Rose emphasised, to remind him of her cousin’s humanity, “will cooperate with me. As a member of his family, he trusts me implicitly; and his father respects me, which is another gift free with my services.”

“You expect to rehabilitate the Puppet King?”

“The _Smuppet_ King; and no. While I believe that he and every patient within these walls have the ability to reintegrate with society, I also believe that although my uncle has the ability to become well, that he ultimately, and adamantly, does not wish to.”

“I hope you realize that it would be against ethical protocol to assign you to either Strider, Dr. Lalonde.”

“Desperate times calls for creative measures, don’t you agree, Doctor? In truth I expected to work my way up to them, as it were. Once I’ve successfully handled a few other more, similarly afflicted patients, I may be permitted my requests perhaps?”

“Were you any other member of our staff, Dr. Lalonde, I would discharge you for such requests,” Dr. Scratch began, folding his hands together in front of his mouth as he thought aloud; “ _But,_ as you’ve mentioned, you very well may be what our patients need. Very well; I shall assign you to two of our high profile cases. If you can reach them, you should be more than capable of handling the Striders. I shall see to it that you receive the first file sometime this week.”

“Thank you, Dr. Scratch.”

“Do not thank me Dr. lalonde; it would have been far kinder to have refused your internship altogether last year, so that you might never have stepped foot in this forsaken place, and spared you from an introduction of madness altogether.”

“ _Mental illness_ and I, Dr. Scratch, have been well acquainted before. I assure you that I am not frightened by it.”

“That my dear, is precisely what worries me. Still, I aim to be an excellent caregiver and employer; you shall have every resource at your disposal. Good luck, Doctor Lalonde, you might very well need it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Rose Lalonde wondered where exactly she had gone wrong as the scratchy sensation against her skin worsened.

When Dr. Scratch had sent a flighty little man into her office with a billiard green file labeled with an unassuming name of “Egbert, John E.”, Rose had been intrigued. When she had opened the file minutes after ushering the timid man out her door, and had discovered the name belonged to none other than the clown heir of crime himself, the youngest infamous supervillain in all of Gotham,  _ The Prankster _ , Rose had nearly congratulated herself on the spot. 

As per Scratch’s instruction, she had been assigned to him with the hopes that she could break him of his partners infatuation of reckless and downright deadly tricks against unwitting and unwilling participants.

He had been labeled as the easiest to handle of the two, and that, Rose thought, had been the first mistake; she should have never have taken Scratch at his word. 

At first, Prankster had refused to answer to anything other than his “cool supervillain name”, but gradually, he had accepted her use of his “boring” one. 

He had been quite amenable to her, surprisingly, Rose recalled. It had been only to easy to receive his life story, his favorite movies, his dreams. 

She had overseen several sessions with him, tallying all the way to forty-one. She thought that they had been making great progress, slow progress to be sure, but an easy, steady progress just the same. 

Rose had hammered out his profile and symptoms with ease.

He held an egocentric viewpoint with a negative view and lack of trust in other people. He held a mistaken belief of entitlement, including an inability to handle delayed gratification; he confused his wants and needs, and ignored the rights of other people. When it came to acting in a socially accepted manner, John demonstrated poor problem solving and decision making skills, and that was coupled with his inability to consider the effects of his behavior, leading him to develop a strong tendency to act on impulse, which was often dangerous with his lack of self-control and empathy.  He had a hampered ability to see reason and accept blame for his actions. Rose was certain that his inability to handle simple social situations fed into his inability to manage feelings of anger, which prompted his need to create highly volatile pranks. The use of force and violence was a means to achieve his goals, namely attention and social acceptance. 

He had talked happily with her.

She had written every word, created flurries of analysis and hypothesis, and had recorded every session for verification and study. 

Had she been too focused, and missed the forest through the trees? Or, missed the whipped cream pie through the bake sale, as it was quickly turning out to be? 

Rose wanted to laugh, but the sound was mangled and caught the attention of her captor.

“This is so much fun, isn't it Rose?” John asked, as he began attaching the rope to the pulley system; Rose tried to guess how long she had until she would be dangling over the large, ominous looking vat in the center of the room; her cousin Dave would’ve had a better chance of guesstimating it, she thought. 

“Dr. Lalonde, if you please. I like my kidnappings to retain their formality, Mr. Egbert.” 

“Don't be silly Rose, that's my job!” he replied in happy spirits, before he scowled and added, “Mr. Egbert is my father!” 

“Yes, I recall. Would you say that your recent fascination with tying up women against their will is a result of a strained relationship with him?”

He paused a moment, deep in thought. 

It was his tendency to think about what she said that had lulled her into a false sense of security, she realized; as she tested the ropes again, she promised herself that if she lived through the night unscathed, that she would not make the same mistake twice. 

“Hmm, you know, I've never thought about it before!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together after attaching the rope.

He turned to her and offered her a large grin; “You sure are a good doctor Rose.”

“I try,” she replied, eyeing the vat and her patient again warily. 

She let him continue for a few more seconds and then decided that she might as well test her luck.

“John,” she asked softly; he didn’t hear her over his humming.

“John,” she called again, louder, catching his attention.

“Yes Doc?”

“May I ask you a few things, you know, since we’re both here and alone.”

John tilted his head for a moment, considering it; apparently fine with the idea, he beamed at her and nodded.

“Ask away Rose.”

“What’s in that vat over there?”

“Aww, I can’t tell you that Rose, it might spoil the joke!”

“That would be a shame yes, but, the way I see it, and this is just my opinion mind you, but the way I see it, is that I’m going to be dangling over it regardless, correct? What if by not knowing what it is, I accidentally ruin the joke by not having the right reaction to it?”

She watched as John thought that over; he bit his bottom lip, tapped his cheek, shuffled his weight on both of his feet, swaying slightly.

She tried to ignore the adrenaline and fear coursing through her body. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to keep it a secret!”

“I think I can manage that,” Rose replied, nodding as much as her binds would allow.

John walked over to her -grinning broadly- and bent over until his face was level with hers.

“It’s acid!” he exclaimed, the way a child might delight in revealing a strange looking bug they found and captured at recess, only to display it proudly to their equally enthralled classmates and mortified teacher. 

Rose closed her eyes slowly, a forced habit, to keep herself calm. 

“John, correct me if I am misinformed, but haven’t your last six kidnappings involved acid?” 

“Yeah, so?” John asked.

“Well, just a thought of course, but, isn’t it starting to get a little… over done?”

She offered the word carefully; John was simply the best there was at pranks, lethal or not. He would not take kindly to someone critiquing them, she was sure. 

His face squinched up, and the supervillain sucked in a large breath. 

Rose waited for a slap or for the feel of cold steel of a barrel against her face.

Instead, John exhaled and looked worried.

Rose sunk her teeth into it like a bear trap encircling around a bunny.

“It’s just, with your criminal notoriety, everyone expects you to kill people. The joke… is just not as funny if people can see the surprise coming, correct?”

John’s face ran through several more expressions, and under normal circumstance Rose would have logged away each one and made notes for future reference, but as it was, she cared only for the final look of acceptance that he displayed after pacing around the mostly empty room for several excruciating moments.  

He approached her again, this time a little more timidly. 

“What would you suggest doctor?”

Rose looked at him for a moment, taking in his blue colored costume, avoiding the goggles of course; she didn’t want to add “hypnotized” to the growing list of activities she had found her evening supplying her.  

Rose swallowed and exhaled steadily; she tried her best to look over both of her shoulders and then leaned forward as much as the ropes would allow, as if she planned to tell him a secret.  

“Were we at Arkham, I would suggest you to let your captive go and reflect on what brought you to this point and how you might better avoid it in the future; but I am not exactly on duty at the moment, am I, Mr. Prankster?”

“I won’t tell them anything,” John replied excitedly, thrilled that she was playing his game no doubt. 

“Well then, I would suggest one of two other options. The first being you replace the acid with something more unexpected.”

“Like liquid nitrogen?” he replied excitedly.

“ _ Like jello _ ,” Rose replied, evenly.

John frowned. 

“Rose I’ve already done all the stuff with jello that you can do! I did that when I was just starting out! It won’t be funny at all!”

“On the contrary, my dear John, it’s a classic. Like whip cream pies, you can never go wrong with a vat of jello. Just think, everyone will be scrambling around to save me, only to find that I was never in any danger at all! Think of their confused faces, their startled realizations that you’ve got them again, you scoundrel!. You shall be the scoundrel John, it shall be you.”   

John didn’t look as upset anymore, but he didn’t necessarily looked convinced either, which worried her.

“What was your other idea?”

“Well if you're not inclined to go with the jello route, might I suggest that you just leave me as I am. It would probably be a lot of effort filling the vat with something else and not to mention, you’d have to hoist me up there and with no way of knowing when help shall be on the way, why, I would probably pass out from all of the blood rushing to my head before they even arrived; that wouldn’t make for a very good prank I’m sure.”

John’s face twisted into anger and he ran his hand through his hair as he began mumbling to himself; Rose exhaled evenly again, and waited. 

It was another several tense minutes before he spoke to her again, each more terrifying than the last.

“Alright Rose, we’ll try your way. But not the jello one. I’m done with anything edible! Especially baked goods. I hate baked goods,” he grumbled, momentarily piquing Rose’s psychologist instincts before he shouted again; “I’ll leave you right here! Just the way you are.”

“A wise choice John, if my opinion means anything.”

“Pssssssh, of course it does Rose! We’re friends!” he chided, drawing out the syllables while waving his hand absently.   

Rose allowed relief to begin to settle in her system. 

“But, of course, since I gotta be gone before anyone gets here, I gotta make sure you can’t go and mess anything up Doc.”

Rose refused to follow her instinct to jump; she stared into his eyes, a far darker shade of blue here than she had ever seen in Arkham, and kept her breathing steady.

“Oh?”

John nodded, mostly to himself, before walking out of her line of sight. 

Internally, she fought valiantly against her urge to panic. 

She’d had worse, she told herself; she could handle anything he did, as long as she made it out alive afterward. As long as there was an after, she could be okay. Help would no doubt find her before long.

How long would it take for her to be assumed missing anyway? She held to a strict schedule on the weekdays; Roxy would no doubt be beside herself with worry if she failed to some home on time and failed to notify her of her whereabouts thereafter. 

She tried not to let her breathing hitch as she thought of her sister. 

When she was out of danger, she was going to hug her sister so hard that they’d both likely bruise.   

She looked up, hearing John’s approaching footsteps. 

He was carrying a syringe. 

That, did not bode well, Rose admitted. 

It was as he was sliding the needle into her skin, that she allowed herself to panic. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The needle was large, and pulled slightly as John extracted it.

Two lone neon yellow colored drops fell from the hallowed point as it settled once more into her line of vision. He dropped it, causing the glass to shatter. 

“John, what did you inject me with?”

“Nah-uh Rose, that’d spoil the joke. Can’t have that can we?”

Rose forced her breathing slower, and heart rate to slow with it, as much as she could; she had spent much of her youth training herself to hold her breath underwater for long periods of time; the longest she had ever gone was just shy of six minutes. She doubted that holding her breath would be useful in her current situation, but she kept the feeling of tranquility the activity inspired firmly locked in her mind in an attempt to slow whatever was now coursing through her veins, from spreading faster. 

“John, I am highly upset with you as it is, tell me what was in that syringe or so help me, I shall never visit you again as long as I live.”

She tried to keep her composure, really, she did, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for some reason.   

John looked slightly remorseful, and only shook his head. 

“I can’t tell you that, I’m really sorry Rose.”

“Why can’t you tell me John, I thought you said we were friends? Friends don't inject each other with things without their permission, and then deny them the knowledge of what that thing was.” 

“I can’t tell you because I don't really know what was in there,” John replied sheepishly; he scratched the back of his head and shrugged, smiling, as if he was unable to see anything wrong with the situation.

Which, according to everthing Rose knew of him, he likely didn’t.  

“John, why did you do this to me? Why now? What’s happened? You were doing so well before,” Rose whined; the unfairness of it all was slowly inching along her spine and she wanted desperately to quell it. 

John looked her over, as if she wasn’t completely there, and his expression shifted. 

He looked serious, for once. 

“It’s just really funny you know?”

“Know what?”

“That’s it,” he offered, that’s the best part, that you don’t know!”

“John, I hope you realize that I’m going to have to put all of this on your record...” she warned, knowing it was far beyond useless now.

“All those records. Files. Psycho-mumbo-jumbo. All this time you’ve been working on us crazy people you’ve missed what was right under your own nose!”

“John, you’re starting to sound delusional. Sit down and take a few deep breaths. We can talk through this together.” 

John wouldn’t be persuaded, however. He was a dog with a bone and he wasn’t going to give it up for all the prettiest dog houses in the world. 

He leaned forward, and grinned menacingly; Rose struggled to keep him in focus as his edges began to blur. 

“How’d you like my cousin Doc?”

“Jane?” Rose asked, surprised; “What does…”

Her mind filled with images of the Croker Industries heiress. She had fallen criminally ill nearly a year before John had, and there was no reason to be found as to why; or at least no one had found one, The Baker was not one to give information about herself. In fact, she hardly spoke at all. Jane E. Crocker was an enigma that Rose had only recently begun to study; she had shared all of three sessions with the young woman, and hadn’t had time to do more than record her observational findings. 

“Are… you jealous of my trying to assist your cousin as well John?”

John’s eyebrows shot up, surprised; he laughed, a deep but light hearted laugh that went on for a few seconds before he managed to quiet it. 

“That was a good one, you really  _ do _ have a sense of humor under there! I knew it!”

“If… it's not jealousy, is it anger? Are you angry that I’m trying to help your cousin?”

John grew serious again, and his smiled wavered.

Rose felt herself start to sweat, and she shivered as she experienced a minor hotflash. 

“She’s the one that made me this way, you know,” John offered, monotonously. 

“What-”

“-But that’s what makes this joke so great!” John exclaimed, cutting her off.

He patted her arm, and resumed his usual grin. 

Rose thought the new morsel of information over; Jane had caused John’s descent into madness? Or had she induced it? 

Rose thought back, back to the beginning of John’s career; he had been half of a duo, The Jokester, as he called himself then, and his pranks had been non-consensual, but harmless and enjoyed by the general public. There had been a TV show. Ran a few seasons. John had just been kid then, twelve, maybe thirteen. His partner had been roughly three years older. She had been dubbed the “Magic Maid” by the audience. For some reason, she stopped appearing on the show. It had lasted a few episodes without her, before John too had gone missing.

Perhaps the quiet, steel eyed girl with the cybernetic enhanced skin had once been the same star of John’s show? 

Her disappearance, if her theory was true, then Magic Maid’s disappearance coincided with crocker Corporations reveal of their future owner, Jane E. Crocker. 

Shortly thereafter, the shows onsite location, a magic shop supposedly run by John’s father had been shut down. That’s when John had disappeared from the public eye.

Only to reappear shortly thereafter as the Prankster, sidekick to the Baker.

“You’ve figured it out I see, the part about me.”

“Well, that is my job you understand.”   

“Oh, I understand everything quite well Doctor, it’s  _ you _ that I’m afraid isn’t caught up in the race.”

“Is this about family genetics? I assure you that I am well aware of my own cousin’s status. I fully intend to help him. Or is that the real issue at hand? Did you try to turn your own cousin away from a life of crime and misery, only for her to drag you down with her in the struggle? Are you afraid that the same will happen to me? Or are you hoping for it?”

“Oh Rose, that’s the funny thing about you. You see so much! But you always miss the forest through the trees.”

“Would you perchance care to fill me in then?” Rose asked, as a feeling of lightheadedness began to settle in.

John shook his head and continued smiling his infernal smile. 

Rose began to feel itchy, just under her skin, across her body. 

“Well Rose, this has been fun, but I-”

The sound of breaking glass in the ceiling alerted them that they were no longer alone.

John smiled brightly as a lone figure landed on one of the rafters above them.

“Looks like it’s time for the punchline!” the Prankster exclaimed. 


	4. Chapter 4

“I thought I all up and told you to stay the fuck away from her, Egg-Boy,” the person declared, (why was their voice oddly familiar? Rose wondered; was it just the relief for the prospect of being rescued?) “I thought I all up and told  _ all’yallself  _ to hella get your  _ the fucks _ always  _ away _ from her.” 

“Sorry pussycat, but she’s my doctor,” John replied, shrugging again, “I’m obligated to see her!”

The loner pulled out a device; Rose couldn't really make it out in the darkness, but she caught the sight of a faint metallic glimmer in a neon pink color.

“Ah, ah, ah,” John tutted; he grabbed the chair she was sitting in and spun it, so that she had a clear view of the person in the rafters.

“One little huff and I’ll blow her brains in,” he warned; Rose had watched videos of his wind controlling powers online. She wondered how strong of a wind it would take to literally blow her brains out of her skull.  

The person in the rafters lowered their object, - _ was that a grappling hook? _ \- and they leaned forward. 

A helmet, with four glowing eyes and two feline esque ears shielded the person’s identity, but Rose knew instantly that the persona above her was the expert hacker, elusive thief, and animal rights enthusiast  _ C@tgrrL _ . 

She had never been seen publicly, although she occasionally left signs of her heists or lines of  code hinting at where she had been; it was only the pink four-eyed cat emblem, which was littered across the internet as her calling card, that informed Rose of which masked villain the girl was.  

There was something eerily familiar about her, Rose was certain, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. With how tied up she was, she could hardly move her fingers at all.  

The room was beginning to dance around in ways that she knew it shouldn’t. 

Whatever it was floating through her bloodstream, it did not seem to mind altering her perception of reality.

That, did not bode well, Rose thought, as watched clouds in her vision begin to burst in brighter colors than usual; and that was saying something, because as a tetrachromat, Rose was used to seeing far more colors than most people ought to. 

And as someone afflicted with chronic hallucinatory psychosis, Rose well well used to seeing,  _ things, _ that she ought not to, too. 

Her last assortment of prescribed mixed medications had alleviated most of her symptoms; it had been nearing eleven months since the last time she had watched someone eating breakfast while their face melted into their cereal or heard whispers behind her ears from non-corporeal beings that wanted her to relearn what drowning felt like. 

Whatever John had pumped into her system, it did not seem to like her medication well.

It seemed to like her brand of peculiarities just fine, however, which was worrisome. 

Rose’s attention to the arguing villains waned as she took notice of a large shadow pulling itself along the fall wall with massive tentacles and candy colored teeth. 

No sir, she murmured, fighting an urge to wretch; that strange fluid had not liked her medication at all.  

There was a ringing in her ears that had nothing to do with the way C@tGrrL dropped to the floor, landing on her hands and feet in a vaguely feline esque manner. 

C@tGrrL strode forward purrposefully -purposely, Rose mentally corrected, it was only the Prowler and Huntress that used cat puns- and stopped short just a few feet in front of her when John inhaled a large amount of air. 

“Don’t puff it E-Man, I have all of your numbers and I’m not afraid to use them.” 

John snorted, but let some of the air escape through his nostrils; the brief gust of air distorted some of her hallucinations briefly, angering them, and in the time it took for her captor to reply, they were all refocused on her. 

She hated it when they realized she could See them.

Rose ignored them and tried to focus on her unexpected rescuer. 

While she couldn't be certain that there was even a rescuer there, or that she was in fact C@tgrrL if there was indeed a person in front of her advocating for her release thanks to her condition’s tendencies to distort reality, the young woman was a great deal nice to contemplate than the rest of her current state of affairs.

“I’ll lay it down simple. You walk away, right now, and our deal will still stand. You so much as jostle  _ one _ of her jimmies out of place and I’ll see to it that Crocker Crops got a few permanent extra corpses to add to their list of mindless drones,  _ kapish _ ?” 

Rose thought that sounded very reasonable; not that she could understand any of it. Words were becoming a bit harder to decipher as the Eldritch knockoffs began whispering directly into her bloodstream. 

“You wouldn’t,” John protested, shock and pain lacing his voice.

That was strange, Rose thought, as she watched the cat woman’s mask blink its eyes independently. (That wasn’t real, she told herself. The mask had been completely stationary and had it was just the lights in the optics flickering that had likely caught her attention.)

She tried to focus on the tiny lines of code spilling down from the woman’s eyes and onto the floor. 

She wanted to warn her, that the Matrix was obviously glitching where she was standing, but as she stared at her she remembered that the woman thrived in glitches. She would be fine, Rose thought; it was very reassuring. 

“You don’t. At  _ all _ . Know  _ what _ I would do,” the woman replied venomously. 

She couldn't see the woman’s mouth from behind her tail, but she was certain that if she could, she would see the venom, a black to most, but a deep violet-indigo-blue to her, shimmering down in little drips against her chin. 

A tail wasn’t right, Rose decided firmly. The woman was human, and humans generally did not have tails. 

Rose looked at her face again, and after a few moments of following the tail in either direction, deduced that it was most likely a scarf. 

The realization tickled something in her brain. 

The scarf.

She knew that scarf.

She knew every color of those fibers and she knew every feel of every stitch.

She had made that scarf.

She’d knitted it for her sister, who had kept it as one of her most prized possessions and wore it only when she went out for a night on the town, whenever she wanted to feel lucky. 

Rose started to laugh.

She finally got the joke. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Rose didn’t remember much after John made his escape. 

She didn’t remember how Roxy got her to the hospital or had somehow found time and clothes to change into before they arrived.

She didn’t remember laughing hysterically until she passed out before the nurses had strapped her to a gurney and wheeled her into an emergency room. 

She didn’t remember the syringes, the blood tests, the questions. 

She didn’t remember Roxy sitting at her bedside, holding her hand through it all with guilt ridden tears in her eyes. 

Rose wished she could remember those things.

Those things would have been soothing, pleasant, helpful even, in healing her. 

All she could remember, was the night terrors returning, and lasting well into the break of day. 

The doctors had been understandably concerned, but after viewing her medical history and grilling Roxy extensively, they had, eventually, declared her stable and wheeled her into another room until her body finished riding everything out. 

Rose remembered voices, words that she thought could only be spoken when standing above moving water, or heard only when pulled into an undertow. 

She remembered glancing up and seeing her employer, Doctor Scratch, but being unable to see a single feature on the man’s perfectly round, white, cueball head.

Police tried to question her, she was sure.  She would be hearing from them again soon after her release; of that she was certain.

They kept her in detox for three days, strapped to a table. 

She recalled vague impressions of feeding tubes and saline drips and the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting above her; a stark yellow-orange-blue tipped-indigo shadowed color with so many tints that they burned strange impressions into her retinas after too long. 

They moved her to another room, after the chemical cocktail had been flushed from her system. 

They didn’t know what it was or where it had come from. 

Rose was not surprised or upset by their lack of discoveries; it was common enough for supervillains to do just about anything they pleased in their fair city.

She was lucky just to have made it out alive. 

The fourth and fifth night, she didn’t sleep.

She had been hospitalized enough as a child to know that in order for her to be released to go home, and not into an institution, she had to convince her doctors that the episode had passed, and that it has just been brought on by a stress factor that was no longer a threat.   

No one would begrudge her a few days of freaking out after being kidnapped by the Prankster, but she knew the faster she appeared to be fine, the sooner she could go home and actually get her hallucinations sorted out. 

Roxy stayed with her both nights, in the bed beside her, squashed against the arm rail so that she wasn’t putting any stress on her body. 

She ran her fingers through her hair, gently; they had taken her headband, which left her feeling small and vulnerable. 

Her sister’s were comforting and familiar. 

She didn’t try to tell her sister about the things she was Seeing.

She had tried, several times, in the past. 

Instead, she only turned her head to nestle it against Roxy’s neck, and tried to focus on the parts of reality that she knew were real; Roxy’s breathing, Roxy’s body, Roxy’s scent. The feel of the uncomfortable cot beneath her. The smell of the hospitals chemical supplies. The crinkling of the paper wrinkling whenever she moved.

Mostly she kept track of Roxy’s other hand, which she held tightly within her own, counting her fingers over and over as she ran along them gently with her thumb.   

Whenever she felt herself begin to slip into sleep, she squeezed, and Roxy would drag her nails along her scalp, just hard enough that the jostle of pain would startle her awake.

She waited until they arrived back at their small modern styled manor, until after she and her sister had gotten cleaned up and properly fed, before crawling into their shared bed, to allow herself to speak. 


	6. Chapter 6

“How long have you been lying to me?”

Roxy winced; this wasn’t how she had wanted this conversation to go, although ever since she had got the message from the Prankster, she had been mournfully expecting it.

“I never really lied Rosie I-”

“Omitting certain truths is lying. You led me to believe that when you went out at night, you were partying like college sorority sister who just earned her drinking license.” 

“Some of the times I was actually partying,” Roxy offered quietly. 

Rose scowled, and and she rolled over, face towards the wall. 

Roxy sighed.

“I wasn’t actually stealing the objects,” Roxy began, “Just their data. I’m like, a thief of nothingness. I steal the emptiness somewhere and put a new thing in its place that looks exactly like something else.”

“So… you’re a copycat?” Rose offered, unable to resist the pun.

“Goddammit,” Roxy swore, scowling momentarily herself; “I should have named my alter-ego that instead of C@tgrrL. I sound like a l337st3r tool.”

“Aren’t we all tools of the system?” Rose asked quietly, feeling a the beginnings of a migraine stirring.  

“Rose,” Roxy asked, after a moment, “Most of what I do, almost all of it, is to help people. I just, my skillset isn't really good in the legal way to do it like you.”

Rose refused to look at her.

“I made a 3-D printed custom cast for a kid the other day. Doctors wanted thousands of dollars for the original one. Mine only cost his folks two hundred plus an extra ten bucks for shipping.” 

Rose shifted slightly, but she didn’t roll over.

Roxy wiped a stray curl out of her face; “It works to. The 3-D printed stuff. I’m not a con artist. Well, not to the customers anyway. I make sure my shits legit.”

“Illegalyigitamate?”

“Yeah, illegalyigitamate,” Roxy agreed quietly. 

She waited a few moments, but Rose remained motionless. 

Roxy slid down until her head rested on her pillow; she stared up at the ceiling until her eyes began to water and shut them before tears could spill down her cheeks.

Her vision swam with colored splotches of light in front of her eyelids; she knew it was a pale comparison to what Rose dealt with on a daily basis, but she liked to think that in its faint similarity, she could understand her sister a touch better.

“I needed the money,” she offers quietly, before Rose decides to tune her out completely; “at least, I did in the beginning. I have enough now to quit, usually, but I like what I do too much.”

“You like stealing?”

“I like helping,” Roxy corrected, softly; “The stealing is fun, but only because I’m not ever taking anything directly. Breaking in gives you a bit of a rush you know? Knowing I’m helping someone out makes me feel like I matter somehow.”

“And the hacking?”

“I get rid of a lot of viruses. Like, super bad ones. Ones that government espionage goons send each other to topple countries and stuff.”

Rose, unable to resist, rolls over, interested. 

“They come to you for that?”

“Naw, if they could they’d probs arrest me or som’thin. I just poke around until I find something, wipe it, keep a copy, and tell the peeps in charge that if they don’t pay up, I’ll put it right back.”

“Do they go for it?”

“Most of them decline at first. But only at the first. The smart ones learn quick. The wise ones don’t even ask for proof, they just wire the money and tell me to kindly get lost before they have to investigate me or some shiz.”

Slowly, Rose reaches for her hand; Roxy keeps hers still, and lets Rose take and maneuver is as she pleased. Rose plays with her fingers, squeezes her palm, opens and closes her fist, splays her fingers, laces her her own between them. 

“Why did you need the money? Wasn’t Mom’s hand-me-downs enough?”

Roxy winced, which did not escape Rose’s attention unnoticed.

“She left me the fortune yeah, but it’s in like, little bits each year. The finance guys didn’t want me to be financially irresponsible, since I was looking after us both and the boys, what with my past of…”

“Binge drinking. Blacking out. Depressive and dissociative states of being.”

“Yeah. Those.”

Rose thought her words over; her hands pulled her own closet, near her face. She bit between the thumb and index finger, not enough to hurt; she closed her eyes and kept her hand hostage.

Roxy didn’t bother asking her what she was Seeing. She didn’t want to upset her further. 

Roxy knew that if she wanted to be forgiven, or at least for things to be okay between them, she had to give more.

She swallowed her pride and shivered; Rose’s teeth applied a bit more pressure. Roxy hoped her hand felt real enough; there were some nights it didn't. 

“I had enough for all our needs. The bills I mean. Electric, Water, Heat. Groceries; that sort of thing. It was just, I didn’t have enough to cover everyone’s… wants.”

She said the word carefully; which she knew Rose noticed, and she knew that Rose knew, that she knew. 

Rose opened her jaw, and Roxy slipped her hand out.

“You mean our schooling,” Rose ventured, closing her mouth; Roxy ignored the urge to wipe away the spit that had accumulated on her chin. 

Roxy inhaled sharply, and nodded.

“Yeah. I mean I had enough for that mostly, but, things started getting bad with the boys. Bail money wasn’t cheap. Dirk’s cell and care costs aren’t cheap. Bro’s costs are even worse. Dave’s therapy, your medications. It all added up all at once, and the money I could pull each month wasn't cutting it and Skainet wasn’t about to give it’s favorite floozie an advance ‘cause they were afraid I was gonna blow it on hookers and booze.”

“So you stole something.”

“The first time yeah. I actually stole a thing. But it had been stolen by someone else first! So I was actually just like, returning it stealthily like. You probably heard how it goes too. Big bad company steals the intellectual property of an up and coming entrepreneur because they won't settle for a shitty pay-off deal. I stole the prototype back and got the cash I needed to pay the hospital bills for Dirk to be tested and put into the Asylum. And then of course we all needed therapy for,  _ you know, _ ” Roxy alluded, miming with her free hand; “And Dave turned out to need a lot more than we thought so I did another job, removing some nasty stuff from an Anon’s mainframe. And then you had med school to pay for; like fuck I was going to let you start life with a student loan debt hanging over your head for the rest of six evers. And then you poured all your inheritance into the Asylum. To fix the place up and stuff. Make it nicer for everyone. For Dirk. Like fuck I wasn’t going to help you with that too.”

“When did it go from paying bills, to seeking thrills Roxy? When did you don the costume?”Rose asked sharply.

Roxy winced. 

“It was a gift from my first client. I’ve made some upgrades over the years. First time I wore it, was during my second heist. I didn’t want to become a costumed  _ themed _ criminal at that point mind you. I just didn't want anyone to find out who I was. First time I called myself C@tgrrL was when I hacked into my highscool’s database and blinged everything stupid. Changed our mascot to a a mutant cat. Used it as my logo when I needed a calling card that wouldn’t give me away. I couldn’t exactly advertise my name about the things, you know?” 

“If you didn’t want anyone to recognize you, why did you integrate your scarf into your costume?” 

“Rose-y,” Roxy drawled warmly, while taking hold of Rose’s hand again; “You’ve always been my solid, you know? Everytime I’m in a bind, I just give ol’ faithful a little tug and it's like you’re there with me. It’s like a comfort thing prolly.”  

“You had to have known that’d I’d have recognized it, then instant I saw it, under normal circumstances.”

Roxy swallowed and she felt the muscles in arm tense, causing her hand to shake slightly against the pillows with the strain. 

“Maybe… Maybe I wanted you to know?” she asked cautiously.

“Criminals often seek validation for their efforts. To be applauded or hated for their crimes. They go through a lot of effort; It’s only natural to want a reaction towards it. Maybe the guilt of lying to me for so many years finally caught up with you.”

“I know I’m a criminal but, I’m not…” Roxy paused, tears wavering on the brink of wetting her cheeks, “Do you think I’m bad?”

Rose gripped her hand harder and tugged it against her chest; Roxy scooted closer to ease the tension, until their noses were nearly touching. 

“I think, in my current preliminary opinion, that you do bad things, because you want to be a good person, and don’t know how.”

“Are you going to turn me in?”

Rose closed her eyes and they spent a few moments breathing in the same breaths; the question hung heavily between them, and it made Roxy want to open a bottle of something she shouldn’t.

“No.”

Roxy released a breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding, and a few tears escaped to join it.

“I’m sorry,” she offered shakily; “I never wanted to hurt you. Get you hurt. E-Man took you because of me. It wasn’t about you or your therapy. He knows you’ve helping him, helping everyone there. The inmates love you there Rose-y, for the things you’ve done. It was me he was trying to hurt. To remind me that the clock is ticking. I’m so sorry Rose-y, I’m so sorry...”

Rose’s eyes snapped open, and her gaze was cold.

“What is the deal between you both? What does it have to do with the Baker?”

Roxy took a few shaky breaths, to help regain her composure. 

“He’s sort of my client. He didn't hire me, but he made it his business to make sure i get the job done.”

“What does he want from you?” 

“For me to fix Jane.”

“You’re not a medical professional. You're not even remotely qualified to handle someone with her level of-”

“She’s being mind controlled by Crocker Corp. I don’t know who set it up or why, but that’s why she went down the deep end. All those little red lines in her skin? Her glowing eyes? That headband? She’s being remote controlled through them sometimes, and sometimes the hardwiring just makes her follow the code. I’m good at code. If I can hack into it, I can turn it off. I can save her,” she explained; she was upset at how desperate her voice sounded. How the words spilled out like a plea. 

“That… would actually explain quite a lot.”

Roxy nodded as much as the pillow would allow; “I can do it, it’s just hard to devote all of my time to it when I have so many other things to take care of too. I mean, I would totes gets all the things dropped for Jane-y, but a lot of my clientele don’t like the word no. And I can only do so much in one night.”

“Do… you have a personal investment in Jane’s recovery?”

“I knew her when we were kids. She was one of my bestfriends; her, Dirk, Jake and Me.” 

Rose’s face fell.

Silence waited between them again.

Slowly, Rose nestled against her. 

“I’m sorry for the unfortunate turns of events.”

Roxy wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, until she was laying on her. 

Gently, she ran her fingers through her hair with one hand, and held the small of her back with the other.

She placed a kiss to Rose’s temple before settling herself comfortably against the pillows.

“Yeah, me too kid. Me too.” 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The chilling feeling of her skin being caressed by the morning air stirred Rose from the spot of sleep she had previously been enjoying.  
Warily, she maneuvered her limbs to locate either her sibling, or the comforter, and growled under her breath when she instead found neither.   
She waited a few moments contemplating weather the feeling of being cold was worth waking up for, and as the sensation worsened as her awareness peaked to full alertness, Rose concluded that it was the greater of two evils but persisted through it regardless.   
She cracked an eye open and scanned the bed as a last ditch attempt to find warmth within a non-sitting up range; the comforter had slid off the end of the bed, and that Roxy was missing entirely.   
She sat up, slowly, stretching as she did so, and the smell of bacon and maple syrup clicked in her synapses.   
Roxy was making breakfast, Rose concluded, getting up; she grabbed the hoodie slouched over the rickety chair in front of their desk and shrugged it on as she shuffled into the living room portion of their apartment.   
Thankfully, the apartment wasn’t anywhere near the size of the old modern mini mansion their late mother’s dwelling had been, so the journey through the living space was quite short once she climbed over the coffee table.  
The smell of food grew exponentially more tantalizing now that Rose was standing mere feet from it.   
There was a stack of pancakes growing on the serving plate to Roxy’s right, but most of her attention was split between avoiding the bacon spittles and timing the eggs.  
She pushed aside the canister of flour on the opposite counter and watched her sister for a few minutes before snatching a piece of freshly plated bacon.   
“Mornin’, Posey-Rosey,” Roxy offered, during her second bacon thieving attempt; “How’d you sleep?”  
“I shut my eyes and prayed the good Old Ones would take me away, tentacled appendages and all,” Rose replied absently; Roxy hummed in response; “Not bad actually, all things considering, if I were to be in a truth telling mood,” Rose found herself amending.   
“That’s good then,” Roxy replied as she flipped a pancake.   
“Telling the truth often is,” Rose prodded; she knew it was closer to the side of being petty than not, but part of her was still vexed and resolved to let Roxy know it.   
Roxy didn’t reply, but her brows furrowed and the tip of her tongue stuck out from between her teeth and she bit it in concentration.  
After a few moments, she nodded, and Rose let the sound of breakfast ring between them.  
She took in a deep breath, and took in the feeling of routine and stability around her, of familiarity and domesticity, and closed her eyes. While the ordeal at the hands of her patient had been harrowing, she was in a small way, grateful for the reminder about how precious life was in the little ways.   
The most important ways.   
She opened her eyes as Roxy bumped her knee.  
“Oops, sorry there,” Roxy mumbled, still focused on making breakfast.  
“Why are you making enough to feed six of us?”  
Roxy cast her a quick glance before replying; “So we have breakfast already made for the rest of this week. Thought it might come in handy.”  
Rose nodded a bit and toyed with the cabinet handle with her feet; she had the notion that her sister was attempting to, as the cool kids would say, ‘kiss ass’ enough to reinstate herself into her good graces.  
“So uh,” Roxy said hesitantly, “How’re you holding up after everything?”  
“In what way?”  
“Well, any of the ways, I suppose. I mean, I’d say getting kidnapped and drugged up is probs not good for anyone in any matter of health, like at all.”   
“Unless you’re into that sort of thing I suppose.”  
“Are you?” Roxy asked incredulously, pausing from cooking to turn to her completely.   
“I’m sure someone out there is,” Rose deadpanned.   
Roxy scoffed and rolled her eyes, but her mouth twisted into her usual lopsided smile and Rose grinned.   
“To answer your original question however, I would say that I feel normal, by the way of what passes for normal with me; rather, in that I feel no odd physical discomforts or unfamiliar psychological abnormalities infringing on my current state of affairs.”  
“You’re probably still in shock then, right?”  
“Probably,” Rose agreed, “I’ll know for certain when I get back to work.”  
“You’re not going back for at least the week,” Roxy proclaimed; she stirred the pancake batter with perhaps a little excess force; “You’re on medical leave till the week is out. Doctor’s orders. And then this weekend you have to give your official non sedated statement to the good ol’ boys in blue.”  
“They’re going to wait until this weekend? Are they more short staffed than usual?”  
“Nah, I just threatened them not to contact you while you’re recovering.”   
“And it worked?”  
“I was convincing,” Roxy offered, pouring another splotch of batter into the skillet to cook.   
“I’m sure you were,” she agreed; “Seems to be a talent of yours.”  
Roxy grunted, but ignored the barb.   
“Speaking of talents, you’ve likely grown quite proficient at your illicit extracurricular activities, haven't you?”   
Roxy sighed; “Rosey, can’t we please wait until after breakfast until you yell at me? I’m pretty sure it isn't good for you to get wound up on an empty stomach.”  
“I’m not going to yell at you sister dearest.”  
“No,” Roxy lamented as she began moving the plates to the table, “You’re just going to be very, very disappointed in me and tell me how I should have handled the slew of new diagnoses that you’re going to give me.”  
“That’s quite tenable. I may just do that that, in fact. However, first and foremost I must inquire after another matter entirely.”  
“Oh? And what’s that gonna be?” she asked before returning to the pancake in need of flipping, and flipping it.   
“What are you doing tonight.”  
“Rosey, I’m flattered but date night is on Family Fridays and it's still Tuesday.”   
“I mean, your illegalyigitamate plans. What scheme are you partaking of tonight.”  
“I was hoping you’d be under the impression that I’d be throwing in the towel on those,” Roxy replied, squinting; she dug the spatula around the pancake to check for uncooked batter.  
“Don’t be absurd, the process of healing is a lengthy one. Now that you’ve admitted to having nefarious intentions for this evening I must insist that you take me with you.”   
The pan Roxy had been holding steadily in preparation for a flip jerked suddenly.  
The girls watched on as the pancake sailed gracefully through the air as if it were a bird caught in turbulence before colliding with the wall on the other side of the room with a smack, where it stuck for a split second before sliding down the wall in a series of overturning flips until it came to a final resting halt on the carpet some feet from them.  
Cautiously, Roxy looked over to Rose, who smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

“You warm enough?” Roxy inquired as she fussed over the scarf once more.

“I’m _fine_ , sister dearest,” Rose replied, whilst rolling her eyes; “An overridingly central question would be an inquiry as to why I’m not in any disguise,” she continued, gesturing to her casual streetwear ensemble as she did so.  

“Because there’s nothing illegal about going to a bar. Especially a classy one,” Roxy replied, smiling.

Rose sighed but allowed her sister to lead her along the city streets for a few minutes without further fuss. Internally, she spent a few moments cataloging her surroundings; the brick fronted street level buildings, the steel boned glass fronted skyscrapers, slogs of automobiles spitting fumes while rumbling with mechanical indigestion. Alleyways and fire escapes were few on the side of the street they were traversing, but Rose wondered how long it would take for person to memorize each cut through and turn about. Above them, the buildings were littered with gargoyles -a prominent architectural feature of their city and somewhat of a well known tourist attraction- all based on various animals; the tortoises didn’t look much useful in terms of providing a clean get away, but something about the snouts of the crocodilian ones reminded her of the neon pink grappling hook carried by her sister.

“I’m assuming talking about things out in the open would be a terrible idea,” Rose offered offhandedly, as she watched the gargoyles shift and fidget on their perches.

“A very bad idea. Probs the worst idea up in all. We can talk once we get there tho,” Roxy agreed before breathing into her hands to warm them; Gotham was a chilly mistress even in the dead of Spring.

“So,” Rose prompted, “to which location are we gravitating towards.”

“The Iceberg Lounge. I’ve got some clients there that I need to meet, and some friends there that you need to meet, and it’s got a spot for us to talk things out to boot.”

“Roxy,” Rose spat, “You’re taking us to the fanciest dive in the city? They aren’t going to let us three feet within the door dressed like this!”

“Oh hush,” Roxy replied, waving her off, “You’re in a skirt, you’re good enough. Besides, like I said, we’re expected there.”

Rose wasn’t entirely convinced, but she held her tongue between her teeth and cursed her decision to wear sensible footwear while Roxy pulled out her phone.  

Their walk was interrupted by a cab, which Rose was certain Roxy was responsible for; the ride was surprisingly uneventful, a rare novelty in their city to be sure, and it ushered them safely down the street from the Lounge. The cabbie wouldn’t take them any closer, not that Rose blamed them, and Roxy filled with her phone for another minute before they got out and the cab sped off.

“So how are we getting in?”

“We walk in ya dumb,” Roxy replied, grinning.

Rose followed her to the Lounge’s grandiose entrance, past the line wrapping around the block for a chance to be turned away by the doormen and the handful of attendants waiting glassy eyed for their next turn of parking a car worth more than their entire extended family’s net worth combined.

Roxy was swayed not a lick by any of them, and bounced happily up to the Doorman manning the VIP lane on the left.

“I’ve got a reservation with Snowman,” Roxy stated merrily, holding out her phone.

Rose held her breath.

The man took one look at Roxy’s phone screen and nodded.

“I’ve got a plus one tonight,” Roxy added as she pulled Rose against her.

“She legal?”

“What kind of gal do’ya take me for?” Roxy replied, her words thick with amusement.

The man nodded again, and stepped to the side as the large door opened.

Rose wondered if the legal phrase implied more than a drinking age when she noticed that the man had neglected to stamp them as they entered.

She had just enough time to ponder whether the Lounge was used to dealing with less than savory individuals and scandalous activities as they stepped through the Lounge’s Mud Room and indoor seated waiting area before Roxy opened the doors to the lounge itself.

Rose’s first impression, was that she fully found the establishments full name fitting; the sheer volume of ice and snow sculpted into the Lounge’s centerpiece was breathtaking and awe inspiring to behold.

Her first thought meandered to the rumors of the supposed large man eating fish beast living below the lounge, and whether or not they might indeed be true.  

Her second thought, she thought, as she surveyed the assortment of patrons and guests adorning the Lounge, was that she probably didn’t need to wonder about what monster might be lurking underneath the water’s surface, when they were already in the room with her.

And all of them looked hungry.


	9. Chapter 9

Rose kept her posture relaxed and her gaze firm; crossing the threshold into the Lounge and meandering past the City’s elite reminded eerily her of the first time she had walked down the Arkham penitentiary cellblock and for a moment, the elegantly dressed, diamond dotted faces shimmered into the twisted snarls and glazed over eyes of the Inmates and back again. 

Rose kept her pace steady and ignored them after giving each one a quick glance over; she knew instinctively that her presentation and willpower would once again be the difference between gaining the upper hand and being eaten alive. 

After passing the main room’s frozen centerpiece, Roxy snaked her through a smattering of guests at the bar and to a doorway barred by a pair of bouncers twice more steely looking than the door guards and nearly twice as large. 

Roxy, once again unperturbed, wiggled her phone screen in front of their highly unimpressed faces and once again, and the guards nodded in acceptance. 

The first bouncer opened the door to reveal a set of backlit stairs while the second leaned over to unlock the red rope fence link obscuring their path. 

Roxy happily waltzed in, and as she pulled Rose in after her, Rose found herself curious. 

“Enlighten me, sister dearest. Did this client of yours essentially gave you a virtual fastpass or were you just flashing a screen filled with 733T H4xx0R code and hoping for the best.”

Roxy huffed and shook her head; Rose could practically perceive her sister’s eyes rolling through the back of her head.

The staircase opened up to a second floor perched high above the first; here the guests were few, and they were even more finely dressed than the people left below. 

One woman, dressed in a black dress that glimmered green in the refracting light, stood out from the others for more than just the presence of her large and oddly ominous matching hat.

Roxy stopped, causing Rose to nearly bump into her at the sudden change in speed, and turned to her.  

“If you don’t want to be associated with what I do, you better wait at one of these tables for a sec while I have a chat; otherwise you’re gonna be blacklabled from here on out.” 

“Can’t I simply accompany you as a concerned psychiatric advisor?” 

“Sure!” Roxy replied cheerfully, “If you go wait at the tables. In fact, I insist. I’ll introduce you to some friends of mine that way you won’t be bored while you wait. How’s that?”

“I suppose if there’s no use in arguing with you about it, I haven't any choice in the matter. Very well. Lead away.”

Roxy took her by the arm again, took a brief look around the room and walked her over to a very secluded table on the far side of the room.

At which, sat two more well-dressed power-exuding women. 

Rose felt something in her body twitch as she looked over their coy grins and heavy lidded eyes.

“Good evening Roxy,” the older looking woman spoke, “Who ever is this pretty little thing on your arm?”

“Porrim, Kanaya,” Roxy replied, nodding to each of them in turn, “This is my sister Rose; Rose,” Roxy continued, turning towards her, “these lovely ladies are Madames Porrim and Kanaya Maryam.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lalonde,” Kanaya offered politely. 

“Yes,” Porrim added, “We’ve heard a great many things of you from your sister; it’s wonderful to put a face to you, as it were.” 

“I’m afraid you both have me at something resembling a disadvantage then,” Rose replied, “I’m afraid Roxy speaks to me very little of her friends.”

“That’s why we’re here actually,” Roxy chimed in, cutting off Porrim’s forming question.

“You see I find myself temporarily in need of taking my leave of my dear, sweet sister, and I was wondering if you two bosom companions of mine might be willing to keep her company while I’m gone? It’s only for a quick chat, not too long at all; might be fun to get to know each other, right?”

Porrim tilted her head for a moment, contemplating, and then turned to Kanaya, who smiled warmly.

“We would, of course, love nothing more than to entertain such a charming creature such as your sister, Miss Lalonde. You leave her in good care.” 

“Thanks, like, a million Maryam,” Roxy replied; she turned to Rose again, “I’ll be back lickety-split, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,  _ wonk _ ,” she ordered with a wink before walking off. 

Rose looked at the strangers turned acquaintances in front of her and waited briefly before Porrim patted the seat beside her. 

After slipping in and settling herself on the seat, she eyed the women more carefully.

“Miss Lalonde,” Kanaya began, “do tell us about yourself.”

“It’s Dr. Lalonde, actually,” Rose replied, taking in Kanaya’s styled bob haircut and the deep richly hued colors of her skin. 

“Oh?” the younger Maryam woman inquired casually; her jade colored eyes lit with interest. 

“Yes in fact, it’s something of a Lalonde family tradition to see how many modifiers one can preclude to their name before losing all sense of identity; my late mother boasted several abbreviated accolades but I alas, make do with the one.” 

“Yes, your sister mentioned something once about you graduating med' school. Do you work anywhere locally?” Porrim inquired while lifting her glass to swirl its contents gently, causing Rose’s gaze to drift along the vine patterned tattoos constricting gracefully around the woman’s arms and the short jade-emerald-green colored paint shimmering on manicured nails which occasionally tapped against the glass she held; her skin was darker than that of her younger counterpart while her eyes seemed twice as bright. 

“Arkham Asylum,” Rose answered, to test their reactions. 

“I heard that one of the patients escaped there recently,” Kanaya offered, after hardly a moment’s pause, “and that the inmate in question even managed to kidnap one of his doctors.” 

“It’s frightening, thinking that such things could occur in our city, is it not?” Porrim asked; Rose wondered why her accent was so hard to place, and whether it differed from the younger Maryam’s accent by coincidence or by choice. 

“An unfortunate occurrence, yes,” Rose replied evenly, “However I remain undaunted by the events and shall resume my work without much further delay. It’ll take a lot more than an attempted murder to dissuade me from it.” 

“So you  _ were _ the doctor in question then,” Porrim replied; her smile seemed to grow more pointed as her interest increased; “I thought you might be.”

“In a word; yes,” Rose answered; Kanaya leaned forward, her interest seemingly growing. 

“You mean to say, Dr. Miss Lalonde, that you went through something as horrible as that and you are unfettered by it? You are not frightened at all in the least?” 

“I am one of Arkham’s most highly skilled psychologists, Miss Maryam. It wasn’t the first time I have been kidnapped and I feel hesitant to say that it shall be the last; believe me when I say that I’ve handled myself in worse situations and that being said; it would, of course, be unwise to remain completely compliant to the levels of threat committed against my person, so I assure you that I shall take necessary precautions in the near future.”   

“Indeed,” Porrim replied; her head tilted again, and Rose received the distinct impression that the woman was fairly impressed with her; if the way the vines slithered and flowered around her neck was a reliable indication. 

Rose turned away from the Maryam momentarily, to catch a parting glimpse of her sister walking back down the stairs with the woman in black. 

Rose turned back to the Maryams. 

“That was Ms. Snowman, the owner of this fine establishment. A classy dame, to be certain, but there’s something about her ferocious nature that leaves one astutely incurious,” Kanaya offered. 

“Does my sister speak with her often?” Rose wondered aloud. 

Kanaya demurely lowered her gaze to the table to take her own drink in hand, giving Rose the unspoken certainty that the Maryams knew more than they would tell; at least momentarily. 

“Your sister seems the type to collect many friends,” offered Porrim.

“Yes, and speaking of, perhaps you two would be so kind as to elaborate on yourselves? If, that is, either of you feel so inclined of course.” 

“Certainly, Dr. Lalonde,” Porrim replied, setting down her glass. 

“I happened upon your sister several years ago;” the elder Maryam began, “She helped me with my garden and I helped her with the daunting task of raising a splintered family and we’ve kept in touch ever since; Roxy has been a very dear friend and I do hope that shall remain true for the foreseeable future.”

Porrim gently placed a hand over hers; Rose found herself startled by the smoothness and warmth of the Maryam’s extremity. 

“And while this is the first time we’ve actually met,” she continued, “I am also glad you are well Rose; Roxy was terribly worried about you during the… unfortunate occurrence, that which you recently survived. You mean a lot to your sister and it would have been devastating to her if anything had terminally befallen you.” 

“Yes, and us thereby as well,” Kanaya added; Rose tried not to track the sincerity dripping from the woman’s words as it fell onto the table. 

“I shall endeavor to remain unbefallen then, in the future,” Rose replied, “Let it not be said that any of House Lalonde strived to begrief such sophisticated socialites as you both here before me.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Lalonde,” Porrim murmured humoredly, “Rest assured your settled oath shall doubtlessly ease the troubled tensions from our shoulders every eve, from here on in. Our dreams shall be vivid and our slumber unmarred, a testament to your candor.”

“No such vision could please me more, I assure you,” Rose pushed, allowing herself to ploy coyingly into the older woman’s ensnaring sense of vined bantering. 

“Speaking of candor, Ms Maryams,” Rose murmured idly, “I must admit that I have become quite charmed with the decadent precipices of your differing yet equally articulate elocutions. Would it be amiss of me to inquire of their obtained whereabouts?”

The younger Maryam woman laughed under her breath; the flattery sat preening around her shoulders and dug into the underlinings of her lightly fluffed hair. She was beautiful. 

The older Maryam, sat pleased and poised, and terribly pleased either by her words or by the mere existence of being herself that Rose couldn’t all but barely stand it. She too, was beautiful, and the pair of them fluttered their fingers and eyelashes as they delighted in their amusement. The pair looked nearly coquettish, and Rose felt that the heady aroma seeping from their varicose vines was nothing if not a well-crafted nectar trap. 

They made a show, a quiet, chuckling moment, of not answering her question. 

“Speaking of decadent precipices, Doctor,” Porrim prompted, shifting in her seat as she did so, “It might do well to seep the cold from your frame, to take my sister for a dance.”

Across from her, Kanaya shifted in her seat, caught between minute startelement and a visible state of enthusiasm over the idea. 

“I would be nothing but honored, Ms. Maryam, to offer you sister my services,” Rose aquised promptly, “I however, feel it prudent to warn you, that it has been quite some time since my last foray into the world of noncompetitive footwork, and thus my skills may prove to be wanting. I apologize for such transgressions preemptively, though I hope to assure you that I am competent at least of neglecting any ‘leadfeet’ on my part, in dance.”

“Well, mostly,” Rose added, as she slid out of her seat and offered a hand for Kanaya to be assisted out of hers; “Probably,” she murmured, as Kanaya stood at her full height. 

“I’m sure that shall not prove to be an issue, Dr. Lalonde,” the young woman murmured, her eyes twinkling reflectivly in the light of the lounge. 

“Yes, go forth and frolic my lovelies,” Porrim proclaimed, as she scooped up her drink; “I’ll be here if you need me to cut in.”

Kanaya hummed in response, and gallantly took Rose’s arm, and lead her to the small clearing between the tables.

Most of the tables were empty enough, that the space felt larger than what it was.

The music, drifted up from the floor beneath, played from an oddly unfrozen band perched precisely on an iceflow wafting around in the middle of the ‘open floor plan’ ocean ring.

Kanaya stood a moment, waiting for Rose to choose their first positioning, and then gently led her into a swaying rhythm that Rose suddenly felt would be the only thing deemed any sort of dance, within such an establishment.   

Rose allowed herself to be swayed, and took a few long breaths with her eyes shut away from the room and its attendants.

“I do hope you do not think my sister and I forward, Ms. Dr. Lalonde,” Kanaya mused quietly, her tone steady, her eyes playful.

“Not at all, Ms. Madame Maryam Jr.” Rose replied, equally enthused in the unabashedness of the moment.

“Kanaya, if you please,” the woman stated, as she pressed to dip her faintly. 

Rose pliantly allowed herself to dipped and coddled closer in a slow, graceful turn; “Rose, if you would, Kanaya,” she replied, “As I do hope to please you.”

“Oh?” 

Kanaya murmured the syllable casually, light itself oozing from her jaw and cheeks.   

Brimming, Rose corrected. 

The light was too pretty, emanating from Kanaya’s face to be called anything such. 

It was such a rare occurrence, Rose thought, as she offered the woman amusing smile, that her vision distorted things around her prettily. 

She theorized, for a single step of motion, that there were just some people, too beautiful for her mind to make monsters out of. 

“Is that why you accompanied your sister here, this evening, Rose?”

Rose fought an urge to nuzzle into the woman's collarbone; the feeling of warmth in the woman’s body pressed far too enticingly against the chill from the lounge. 

“My darling Sister sweet,” Rose answered, “has finally seen fit to allow me the privilege of shadowing her this evening, as it were. I must admit I was terribly excited, to enjoy her haunts in tandem.”

Kanaya seemed content with the response; their dance continued to swirl excruciatingly slow and perilous in proximity of each other. 

Rose succumbed to her desires and threaded her arms around Kanaya’s shoulders, forcing the woman’s face closer to her own.

Kanaya unfettered, breathed in the air between them and slowed their dance further. 

“It really is good to meet you Rose,” Kanaya murmured faintly, the way she said it, with such quiet lament and mournful tinting, made Rose wonder if the sisters had been longing for a night such as this. 

She wondered, what she must have done to deserve such a resounding, welcomed, reservation.

Rose allowed her brow to fall against the young woman’s chin.

Or, she thought, what Roxy had done. 

Kanaya’s hands slid from her shoulders, and ran smoothly, gently, warmly, down her back; halting at her hips. 

The candor of the woodwinds swirled the air around the room in riveted clouds; Rose could practically feel the way the ice around them was fracturing in on itself. 

“Porrim was Roxy’s first, wasn't she?” 

Kanaya perked up, jostled slightly from her reverie.

She took a moment, pondering over what she felt precisely she was want in to say. 

“She didn’t tell you about us?”

Her question was more, genuinely surprised, than anything else Rose could detect. 

“My sister is not the boastful type. At least not to me,” she addressed flatly, “She performed for you, or your sister, if you either or both of you two were indeed both the cherry-plucking origins of her repertoire filled forays into the night, and exchanged some sentimental articles, if my memory serves.” 

“That’s right, likely,” Kanaya agreed, a touch of a smirk on her smile; “I can’t attest to her proclivities mind you, but Porrim has a habit of… enticing others into her living out her suggestions.” 

“Did you and your sister perchance have continued suggestions, with Roxy and myself in mind?”

“And,” Kanaya asked, lengthening the word with a little stretch of an impressed scoff.

“Or,” Rose added, not feeling particularly inclined to argue. 

The woman was a good dancer; and she was an apparent family friend.

And she was still terribly pretty. 

“Hmm, Ms. Lalonde, I do believe my sister is beckoning back to the table. I must hesitantly, and quite reluctantly, I might add, suggest we depart from the dancefloor to dock once more at the berth, lest we stir up undo salacious slander;” Kanaya ushered.

Her words were gentle, and her touch still ready; Rose allowed the woman to disengage their bodies. 

She left a pressed kiss again the back of her hand, before leading her back to her older sister’s table. 

Rose tried not to watch the formless colorless creature slither up skin out from between Kanaya’s gifted lipstick marks. 

Time was tricky to gauge. 

Porrim had received a platter at some point during the dance, and Rose was mildly surprised to find a drink and plate waiting for her too, as well as a seemingly placed setting and beverage for Rose’s still absent sister.

Rose took a seat next to Kanaya, across from the older sister, as silently dictated by the new place settings.

“You two looked nice together out there,” Porrim mused, striking up conversation as she plucked delicately at the food with a tiny specialized fork. 

The bait was dangling clearly, and Kanaya seemed happy enough to feed from it; she offered her sister a smile.

“We look nice together here, too,” she jested. 

“Verily,” Porrim agreed.

“I am proud to pronounce the evening free of any left feet and poor motor control, on either my behalf, or of that of Miss Maryam, younger, here,” Rose offered; her fingers toyed with her glass for a moment before she lifted it to press against Porrim’s with a sprightly, ringing  _ ting _ . 

“I believe you would have to be  _ hardpressed _ to become otherwise, Miss Lalonde,” Porrim replied lowly, her voice having taken on a huskier, almost insinuating tone.

Rose watched the woman smirk at her from behind the rim of her glass; Rose brought her own rim to her cheek, tapping it ever so lightly against her skin before running her tongue behind her teeth.

It had been years now, that she had quit. 

That Roxy had quit.

There was god-only knew what possibly still coursing its way through her veins, after that event with John. 

She was seeing things. 

Rose set the glass back down, and swirled it; never breaking eye contact with Porrim. 

She could feel Kanaya’s eyes, equally pressing into her from an angle. 

“Am I to be pressed, Porrim dear?” she asked pleasantly, before taking a single sip from the glass. 

Porrim’s grin seemed almost feral for its gleam.

The moment, however was interrupted, as a familiar scent preceded by an even more familiar body, slid into the seat next to Porrim. 

“Sorry it took so long,” Roxy mustered as she settled herself, pressing a kiss to Porrim’s cheek; she turned and threw an arm around Kanaya’s neck, yanking her in for a kiss peppered against her check, before releasing her hold and slumping back with a sigh of what sounded like exhausted relief. 

“So, what did I miss?”

“Ms. Maryam was just informing me that we’re to be hardpressed,” Rose replied snarkily; a light jaunt to the jostle of her shoulders. 

Roxy snorted in surprise. 

“Both of us?”

“Or either,” Kanaya inserted; she started to lift her hands, as if to quell the confusion. 

“You needn’t tip your hand, Kanaya darling,” Rose lilted at her, her smile offering the girl some respite; “Roxy and I are fond of the intertextual foreplay, as it were.” 

“O-oh, right,” Kanaya murmured, a slight tremor momentarily desyncing the perfect predilection of her voice, filing Rose with both a sense of pride and curiosity.

“Rose dear, I do believe you are attempting to out-seduce us,” Porrim assented with a slight wave of passing fancy. She seemed more at ease; less poised. 

Her smile was of a person, rather than a predator. 

Roxy seemed pleased, mostly.

Rose could see the underlying layers of confusion and doublebacking; she’d likely need convincing, Rose figured. 

She could handle, she was sure. 

If she wanted Roxy to entrust her with her illicit life, she had no choice but to enfold herself into it; one pair of exceedingly breathtaking women at a time.   

“Perhaps, after dinner, we might continue our conversations?” Porrim asked, as Roxy struggled to smother her internal conflictions; Porrim looked to each of them in turn, her eyes glittering with unspoken amusement and intentions that were not lost to Rose. 

“Certainly,” Rose replied aptly; “It would elate us to accept.”      


End file.
